Here Today
by emmea12
Summary: Lydia and Stiles' eighteenth birthdays come with the promise of the sobering truth about the rest of their lives in the form of the appearance of their "death dates" on their wrists. Death Date AU. No supernatural elements.
1. Chapter 1

In exactly eleven minutes Lydia Martin would know the date of her death; the exact moment that her breath would leave her. She had eleven minutes of childhood left before she had the second date on her tombstone, her expiration date, the date everything would come to a grinding halt. Eleven minutes to be kid. Eleven minutes to dream about what her life could be, because the second she read out her expiration date, it would be real. Life, and what it was destined to be, or rather, what it wasn't, would be laid at her feet like a rug.

The sun was setting low in the sky, and she silently cursed her mother for giving birth to her so late in the day. She wanted this over with already. She just wanted to know. She wanted to plan, or not plan if that's what her death date told her. She wanted to be free of this sinking feeling in her chest.

She sat on the back porch steps and absentmindedly rubbed her right wrist where her skin would tear, scab over, and scar in the matter of a minute. There was a strange haze in Beacon Hills tonight. Her backyard looked like the opening scene of a horror film with it's eerie fog and low light. That annoyed her more than anything. She hated the night because she hated the darkness. Things crawled out of the darkness.

"Hey," a smooth voice said from behind her. A boy of almost eighteen with dark brown hair and honey eyes lowered himself onto the stairs next to her. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine, Stiles, really," she said with a forced smile. He'd asked her how she was doing no less that fifty times that day at school. "I just want this over with." She sighed and ran her hand through her long strawberry blonde hair before looking over to her best friend. "How's it going in there?" She nodded towards the backdoor. "I'm surprised my mother hasn't worn a hole in the kitchen floor with all of her pacing."

"She's just nervous, Lyds," Stiles said soothingly. "Her only daughter finds out when she dies today. Cut her some slack." He tucked a loose lock of hair behind his best friend's ear and lingered a little too long. Lydia pretended not to notice.

Her left hand went to her right wrist again, only to be intercepted by Stiles' hand. He intertwined her fingers with his and rubbed his thumb over the top of her hand. "I didn't want a party for this. I didn't want to celebrate this." She said quietly.

"You love parties," Stiles laughed. Lydia's birthday parties were famous in Beacon Hills. Everyone wanted an invitation every year. When the school found out this year that she wouldn't be having a huge party like usual, speculation ran rampant.

"I didn't want one this year." She shrugged and used the hand that Stiles wasn't holding to fix the cuff of his flannel.

"What do you call what's going on in there?" He nodded his head towards the back door. Through the glass the two could see people laughing through tension, eating food, and looking over the table in the corner with the wrapped gifts piled neatly.

Lydia snorted. "A wake."

Stiles laughed. "You are the only one wearing black," he reminded her. "Not much of a wake." He pulled a little of the sleeve of her black dress and she playfully slapped him away.

"A pre-wake then." Lydia leaned into his shoulder and sighed. "Are you nervous? You're birthday is next month."

"Nope," the boy said quickly and with an air of truthfulness. "What happens happens. There's not anything I can do about it now."

"What if my date is tomorrow?" she asked. They had a friend, Alison, from school whose date had been the next day. It was weird, and sad, and unexpected. It was the most unexpected death Lydia had ever known. Every adult she'd ever met had the same scar on their dominate wrist. The same strange handwriting that told them the exact moment, down the the minute, that they would die. She always knew her grandmother would die November 3rd, 2013 at 2:13am. She knew that her mother would die May 22nd, 2046 at 4:13 in the afternoon. Her dad, her teachers, her older friends, the lady at the supermarket, the usher at the movies: all had their dates. She would too; in exactly seven minutes.

"If it's your last day, I will make it the best day of your life," Stiles promised lightly. His neck tensed though, in a way that betrayed his air of lightness was a complete facade.

The two sat there in the dark for a few more minutes before Lydia's mother, Natalie, popped her head out of the back door. "Lydia, Stiles, it's time." She gave the two a forced, tight smile as she held the door open for them.

"Come sit by me, baby girl," Lydia's father said as he patted the couch between him and where her mother lowered herself uncomfortably. Lydia was grateful that her parents could put away their differences for tonight, even if it still was incredibly uncomfortable.

Stiles gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and letting her sit between her parents. He joined his father, friend Scott, and Scott's mother Melissa in the corner of the room.

"Two minutes," Natalie said with a look at the clock on the mantle. Natalie's hands shook, so Lydia took her mother's hand in her own and clutched it. Lydia's father put him hand on Lydia's back and rubbed soothing circles into her black dress.

The room was silent apart from the ticking of the clock. Lydia wanted that stupid, incessant ticking to stop. With each deafening tick she felt her life drain out of her in a strange way; like she was already dying. But, Lydia guessed that was true. No one was actually living, not really. Everyone was dying. She was already eating through what was left of her life and she didn't even have an end date yet.

As the seconds dripped by, she slyly looked around the room and saw her Aunt and Uncle sitting in rocking chairs by the fireplace. Her aunt wrung her hands idly while her uncle looked unamused. Lydia's eyes fell onto Stiles' father, the Sheriff, who looked just as nervous as Lydia's parents did. He'd be facing this same nightmare in just a months time himself when Stiles turned eighteen.

The clock continued ticking, but the hands never seemed to move. Lydia's heart felt like it was skipping beats and missing time. This was was what she'd been dreading for eighteen years.

The alarm clock Natalie had set on the kitchen counter went off, breaking the tense silence in the room. Lydia would have jumped in surprise if her arm hadn't started burning. The pain rose, and billowed into a truly blinding pain. She looked down in horror as the skin on her wrist spilt unevenly, like someone was carving into it with a hot razor blade.

She whimpered, and her father pulled her tight to his side in a vain attempt to protect her from the pain. Lydia's eyes went up to meet Stiles', who looked horrified. She didn't miss the fact that his father was holding him back from rushing towards her with a strong hand on his arm.

"It's ok, baby," her father whispered. "Just thirty more seconds. It's almost done." He rubbed her arm and her mother laid her hand on her daughter's knee with a terse smile of encouragement.

The cuts scabbed over quickly, like a fast forward video of moss growing over a rock. Moments later the pain dulled and then ceased completely. All she was left with was the scab and her heart on the hardwood floor at her feet.

"Pull it off," her dad demanded quietly. He looked towards the thick, wide scab that covered her entire inner wrist. When she hesitated, her father squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay, honey. Just do it. Get it over with." Natalie patted her knee in support, but if Natalie was being completely honest, she'd rather Lydia not peel it off at all. Maybe it would stay there forever and her daughter would never have to know. People did that, she'd read. People would go to tattoo shops on their eighteenth birthday and have the scar covered as best as they could. Scars don't make the best canvas' though, so they'd always find out.

Lydia took a deep breath and looked up for Stiles, who nodded his support.

"You can do it," he said with a worried smile.

Stiles wanted nothing more than to rush to her, and take away whatever fear she was feeling. He knew that in less than a month, that's exactly what she would be doing. His father had agreed to a small get together for Stiles' birthday. Just the Sherriff, Scott, Melissa, Natalie, and Lydia. Just them, because truth was, as much as he claimed that he didn't care and that there was nothing he could do about the date that was already decided somewhere out in the universe, he was terrified to know what it was. But, not nearly as terrified as he was now.

Lydia pried away the scab slowly and not without pain. She would have gagged at the sight of the scab ripping away from skin if her heart hadn't been in her throat.

The pale white scar underneath the pried off scab was already perfectly formed and very clear. It only took a second for her to do the math.

Her mother sighed dramatically and wiped her nervous sweat off of her forehead with the back of her hand as a wide, relieved smile spread across her face. Lydia's father whooped loudly, hugged his daughter and kissed the side of her head happily. He even squeezed Natalie's shoulder, a gesture that in her sheer happiness, Natalie didn't reject. The high from the relief washed over the group in waves of happiness.

"June 23rd, 2096." Lydia breathed as if in a daze. She looked up at Stiles whose smile was so wide she feared his face might break. "I'm going to be so old," she laughed with tears in her eyes.

"So old," Stiles joked with the same expression. He walked to the couch and she met him for a tight hug. "See, nothing to worry about." He whispered to her and patted the back of her head.

"Lyds," Scott said sweetly as he pulled her into his own hug after Stiles finally let her go. "I guess I'm going to be stuck with you forever." He laughed. His own date revealed that he'd live to the ripe age of 88.

Lydia was passed around from person to person in the room, each person giving her their congratulations in their own way.

"Can we have cake now?" Scott asked suddenly, after all of the hugging became a little maudlin for him. Stiles nodded in fervent agreement.

"Yes!" Natalie said through more happy tears. "Cake, and then presents. Sit down," she said to her daughter quietly. "Relax. I'll get you a piece."

"So, you've got some planning to do," Lydia's Aunt said from a rocking chair next to the couch. "Have you thought about what you are going to do with the rest of your life?"

"I got into the University in the city. I'll go there and become," she paused for a moment. "I'll become something. A mathematician, and physicist. Something. I'll get a little apartment, and bring Prada." She smiled at the vision of her whole life laid before her with pure possibility and potential. She could do whatever she wanted.

"That's awesome," her uncle said.

The party continued for a couple more hours. They ate cake and ice cream, and discussed he potential of Lydia's future. She opened her presents and at once put on the gold necklace Stiles had gotten for her. It was a thin chain with a little clock on it. He gave her time when that was yearned for. A silent thank you was exchanged between the two that did not go unnoticed by everyone else in the room.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow," Stiles said quietly to Lydia after everyone had left besides his father and him. The sheriff was in the kitchen saying his goodbyes to Lydia's parents while Lydia and Stiles stood by the front door alone.

"Yes!" She said excitedly. "You will. For sure now." She held up her wrist and his eyes darted to it again for the hundredth time that night. He'd run he finger over the jagged words and done the math time and time again in his head, just for confirmation that Lydia wasn't leaving him anytime soon.

If anyone would ask Lydia why she did what she did next, she'd blame the high of a renewed life. She thought that her days of making snap decisions fueled by adrenaline were over. That was the old, shallow, young her. She'd grown so much in the last four years. She was more calculating and held more back for the sake of others. The world did not revolve around her, she'd found. So she stopped asking like it.

Nonetheless, her head felt light and fuzzy. Her muscles buzzed like she had too much energy coursing through her veins. Her heart was beating so fast she would be worried if she hadn't just found out that today was not the day she'd die. If it hadn't been for all of that, she would have never kissed Stiles quickly on the lips. Never in a million years. Never ever ever would she have pressed her perfectly glossed lips onto the chapped ones of the boy who'd been by her side since the third grade. Kissing wasn't a thing they did; ever. She thought about it, sure. But thoughts in the middle of math class or while watching a sappy movie were entirely different beasts than actions in her house with her parents down the hall.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. She covered her mouth with her hand and met his blown out pupils. "I don't know why I did that." She breathed. "I'm an idiot. That's why. I'm just- I don't know what I am. Stupid." She bantered. Lydia Marin did not banter. She was poised, beautiful, and put together. She didn't kiss her best friend. She didn't threaten to ruin the best parts of her life by acting on stupid impulses.

It wasn't a mystery that Stiles had had feeling for her for much of their childhood. He'd asked her to marry him in the third grade under the big tree on the edge of the school yard. She respectfully declined the proposal, but agreed to eat lunch with him instead. That snowballed into the friendship that they shared now, that was in her opinion, much like a marriage in many ways. They went to dinner, they did homework, Lydia let Stiles cook for her and then did the dishes afterwards under his watchful eye. As much as Stiles had once liked Lydia, Lydia wasn't sure about in anymore. He'd dated a girl that transferred from another school named Malia. He kissed her, and took her out to dinner on the days that had previously been Scott, Stiles, and Lydia's bowling nights. They went to prom together, and held hands in class.

But then they broke up. It was unexpected when he showed up at Lydia's window at 2am with the story and a request to sleep on her floor because he didn't want to be by himself. His dad was on duty that night, and how could Lydia deny him. Stiles had ended it because it just wasn't what they wanted, he had said. The next day at school Malia slapped Lydia in the face, but Lydia chose not to read much into it. Malia had a hot temper, and was a touch animalistic at times. Lydia had told Stiles she'd been hurt in PE but there was no way he believed her.

Afterwards, Lydia noticed a change in the way Stiles looked at her. Even after the break up they were different. She had no doubt that he had love for her, but it had morphed into something new and different than the reverent crush he'd tried his best to hide from her. He didn't look like he worshiped her anymore. That relieved her and broke her hear a little at the same time. Mostly because while he was busy falling in love with someone else, she'd finally caught up with his feelings for her. Now, she didn't know what sort of love he had for her, and she didn't feel like ruining everything by asking. She had eighty more years to live, and she surely wasn't about to ruin those by loosing Stiles.

"You are not an idiot. Far from it." Stiles reached over and tussled her hair a little. "It's ok. I still love you." He returned her kiss with a chaste one on the crown of her head. "I'll see you in the morning."

Lydia nodded and tried to soothe the red in her face as her parents and the Sheriff came into the entryway, oblivious to whatever had happened between their children only moments before.


	2. Chapter 2

Erica had gotten 20 years to live. It was the talk of the school two weeks after Lydia's birthday. Only twenty years to put her mark on the world. The poor girl was devastated. She sulked around the school like death herself was walking right behind her, waiting for her to slow down just a little to snatch her up. Her mascara ran, her eyes were puffy, and she looked like she could burst in tears at any moment.

"Did you hear about Erica?" Lydia asked Stiles when she set her lunch tray next to him in the cafeteria and lowered herself onto the bench.

"Hello to you too," Stiles said loudly. "How are you today? What did you get for lunch? Did you do the Calculus homework? Wanna do something after school?"

Lydia narrowed her eyes and cocked her head to the side. "Which question do you want me to answer first? Because there was a lot going on there." She waved her hand in front of her, referring to the onslaught of questions the boy had asked her.

"None of them," Stiles said sourly. "Or all them. I don't care. I'm just tired of hearing about Erica's twenty years. It sucks, but there's nothing she or any of us can do about it." He was a little sharper with her than he meant, and he could see at once that she felt it. "I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "Twenty years is still enough to make a life. Someone can have a family in twenty years, or invent something awesome. I'm sure a lot of people would kill for twenty years. People are forgetting that."

"I guess," she said slowly. "I feel sort of bad for her though." She looked across the cafeteria to where Erica sat at a table with a bunch of girls who all looked like they were trying to comfort her. "Especially since Thomas broke up with her earlier. Maybe I should go talk to her." Her eyes darted back to Stiles.

"What?" Stiles asked a little louder than he meant to. His fork was frozen between his tray and his mouth.

"I'm going to go talk to her," Lydia repeated herself before standing up. Stiles' hand grabbed her arm and gently pulled her back down to the bench. He shook his head

"No, I mean, what did you say about Thomas breaking up with her?" The question was more of a demand than a curiosity.

"Does no one tell you anything?" Lydia asked him, bewildered that he hadn't heard this story already. It was literally all over school.

"Only you," he quipped quickly. "What about Thomas?" he asked again. He grew more and more impatient as the moments slipped by.

"He broke up with her this morning. He said that he can't have a life with someone who wouldn't have a life at all," Lydia answered with a touch of confusion.

Stiles shook his head. "He's an idiot." He ran his hand through his hair and gritted his teeth angrily.

"I mean, it was a stupid thing to do, and pretty insensitive, but-" she stopped for a moment and looked at her best friend quizzically. He was angry, too angry. "What is this about? Do you like her or something?" There was a strange pang in her chest as she said the words and she was perfectly aware that the question, as well as the tone she asked it in, was juvenile.

Stiles let out a rueful laugh. "No," he said. "Nothing like that." He shook his head and rubbed his face. "I just can't imagine doing that to someone I loved." His eyes met her's for only a moment before he took a drink of the water bottle on his tray and crinkled it up loudly.

His blood ran lava hot in his veins as he thought about how cruel Thomas had been. They were in high school, and Stiles was completely aware that most relationships in high school were essentially doomed. He was far more aware of that than he thought he ought to be. But he couldn't help but remember how scared Lydia was at the mere thought of getting her death date. He couldn't help but feel his own panic every morning he woke up one day closer to his birthday. What if Lydia or Scott decided that they couldn't be bothered to invest time into their friendship if he only got twenty years? After all, Scott and Lydia could be friends for decades. They knew that their friendship had the potential of a lifetime of bowling and dinners and playdates with their kids. What if Stiles was like Erica and only had twenty, twenty-five, thirty more years? Would they leave him as quickly as Thomas had left Erica? He couldn't believe that. He _refused_ to believe that.

The rest of lunch was silent at their little table. Stiles was caught in his own hidden panic, while Lydia watched him out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to look over a physics paper that was due next period.

—-

"God, this is so stupid," Stiles complained from his position laying on his bed. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets and groaned loudly.

"Do your homework, Stiles," Lydia said from beside him. He'd been driving her crazy all week. He couldn't focus on school work, he turned down a Star Wars night twice, and his usually ravenous appetite was lacking.

"Lydia!" Stiles gasped, sounding very offended. He sat up on his elbows and removed his hands from his eyes as he fought to look up at her through his blurry vision. "I have a disease. You shouldn't talk to me like that. You are supposed to be my best friend. Where is the compassion? Where is the care?"

"Senioritis is not a disease, Stiles." Lydia rolled her eyes and continued working on her Calculus homework.

"Tell that to half of the high school population," he murmured. He threw himself back onto the bed and let out a loud, very dramatic sigh.

"Yes, but the average high school population is not half as smart as you. Now get over it, Mr. Stilinski, and do your homework."

A coy smile played on Stiles' lips. "Mr. Stilinski. I could get used to that," he said.

Lydia rolled her eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. "Then become a teacher," she said. "But first, you have to do your homework." She tapped the end of her pencil on Stiles's abandoned textbook.

"I could never be a teacher, Lyds. Too many kids, ugh. I'm going to be a cop, like my dad." His tone changed dramatically with this statement. He no longer was the bored teenager who was avoiding doing some very boring English homework. He was now a young man who was daring to dream before he got his death date. He was daring to make plans before it was set in stone that they would come to fruition.

Lydia was struck by how serious he sounded. No one talked in absolutes before they were eighteen. It was, "If everything works out, I want to be a writer," or "After I get my death date, I'd like to climb Mount Everest; if I can." Stiles' simple statement that he _was going to be_ a cop made Lydia smile.

"Well then, sir, you better get to studying so that you can get into the academy." She pointed toward his book again and he pouted.

"Fine," he grumbled and picked up the book reluctantly.

What seemed like ten minutes later, Lydia woke up next to Stiles with her textbook in her lap. The evening sun no longer shone lazily through the window, and there was only the light from the lamp on his desk to illuminate the dark bedroom.

"Morning, sleepy head," Stiles chuckled softly from next to her. He was laying on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked groggily. She moved to sit up but the energy necessary to do so just wasn't there. She fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes.

"Two hours, give or take a few minutes. I don't really know when you fell asleep. I was doing my homework like a good boy, and next thing I know, you are snoring like the little delinquent you are." His arm moved from his head and looped its way around her. She snuggled closer to him relishing in his heat. She was very suddenly aware that the bedroom was cold.

"How much homework did you get done?" Lydia yawned.

"None," Stiles laughed. "When the warden sleeps, the prisoner's run amok." He used the hand attached to the arm around Lydia to tickle her side for a moment, eliciting laughter from her.

"I'm sorry," she said with residual laughter. "I don't know why I'm so tired." She yawned again and closed her eyes as she rested her head on Stiles chest. "Aren't you tired?"

Stiles sighed. "Yes," he said. "But I can't sleep."

Lydia's eyes popped open. "Why can't you sleep?" She asked. She sat up and looked down at the now startled Stiles.

"I don't know," he said quickly. "I might be taking too much Adderall. But who can keep up with that, am I right?"

"Are you having the nightmares again?" Lydia demanded as she ignored his favorite excuse that he was taking too much of his ADHD medication. That was a young Stiles thing to do. Older Stiles took it as prescribed, and sometimes not at all. Those days were days Lydia could almost see him morph into the hyperactive buzz cut of three years ago.  
"No," he said too quickly. "I'm ok," he insisted, but he knew that she didn't believe him. He knew how to do a lot of things, but lie to Lydia Martin was not one of them.

"Stiles, are you having panic attacks?" The question was almost clinical, which meant that Stiles was in for it. Lydia rarely used that voice, the detached voice she used when she was on the precipice of being upset. She tucked her feet under her and waited patiently for the answer.

"Lydia-"

"Answer the question, Stiles," she said before pursing her lips.

Stiles sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Yes," he finally said quietly. "A few over the last couple weeks." When he saw her eyes grow wide, he sat up and shook his head. "It's ok, Lydia. I'm just stressed. It's not a big deal."

"You are worried about your birthday." She looked up at the ceiling because how could she be so stupid. Of course he was worried. How could she be so selfish, bragging about her 98 years when he had no idea about his own?

"I'm not worried about my birthday," he insisted. He grabbed her hands and held them. "I'm not worried about my birthday." This time he said the words slower, clearer.

"Is it your mom? Are you dreaming about her again?"

Stiles had never been a big sleeper. When Scott could sleep for days if his mother would allow him, Stiles rarely got more than five hours of sleep a night. His mind just worked too fast for him to easily fall asleep. He had too much energy, even with the medication, to lay down for very long.

After Stiles mother died when he was younger, he slept even less. He complained about nightmares that depicted his mother screaming at him and blaming him for her death. He'd been trying to kill her, she would say. He was a monster, she would say.

That's when the panic attacks started and his dad intervened. Two appointments with a therapist a week for two years seemed to do the trick. He was back to his five hours a night and barely dreamed of his mother at all; or so he told the world. Lydia always knew when he dreamed of her because he'd come to school with purple bruises under his eyes, and his hair would be wilder than usual. She rarely said anything to him though, opting to instead suggest a movie night or study session that would turn into her sleeping over on an air mattress on his bedroom floor. He never had the dreams when she was there.

Stiles pursed his lips and moved to kneel on his bed in front of where Lydia was sitting. "I'm fine," he assured her. He put his hands on either side of Lydia's face. "Fine."

"You are lying to me," she said quietly.

Stiles didn't answer her. He only knelt in front of her, waiting for her to relent because when it came to this, he would out will her any day.

Several moments passed before Lydia gave up with a loud sigh. "Fine," she said. She looked over at the clock on his bedside table, 12:03AM. "My mom is going to be pissed," she groaned and went to stand up.

"Nope," Stiles said with a yawn. "I texted your mom when you fell asleep and said you were staying over here. She's fine with it." He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of pajamas she kept there for night like this. He threw them to her and was more than slightly impressed when she caught them with one hand and with very little movement at all.

"Close your eyes," she instructed him. He diligently turned around while she changed into the shorts and tee shirt. "Done," she said as she finished pulling the shirt down the rest of her torso. He turned around the went to pull out the air mattress from underneath his bed. "No," she said suddenly. Her face reddened when he looked up at her in surprise. "I mean, if you don't want to make all that mess, I can just-" she looked over at his bed and he swallowed hard.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"I mean," Lydia said quickly. "If that's alright. I just don't want you to go through all that, um, trouble."

Stiles looked stunned for a moment but regained himself quickly. "No, yeah, that's great- I mean fine. Totally fine." He flashed her a shy smile and went to his dresser to get his own pajamas. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom, get dressed, um- brush my teeth."

After she nodded he left the room and was gone for a good twenty minutes before he returned to his dark room. Lydia was already underneath the covers and snoring slightly, a trait that she would adamantly deny if he ever brought it up.

He laid on his back and put his hands on his chest a bit uncomfortably. He stared at the ceiling fan going around and around and waited for the tortured thoughts that darkness always promised him.

As he waited, Lydia turned around and snuggled into his side, attracted to the warmth he was radiating. He dropped his arms around her gingerly, and waited for her to wake up and push him off of her.

"You promise you are going to be fine?" It was barely a whisper but Lydia's voice echoed in his ears like she'd said them on a megaphone.

"Yes," he whispered back. "I promise."

He didn't dream that night. There were no thoughts about his birthday, or the death date that would carve it's way onto his pale wrist. His mother didn't shout things at him that night either. No one called him a monster. No one he loved died. He slept for a whole eight hours wrapped up with Lydia Martin and he honestly would rather time had stopped right then.


	3. Chapter 3

" _You awake?_ " Lydia's phone buzzed from her bedside table and the bright light illuminated her ceiling and burned her eyes. She'd been laying in bed for hours: awake and restless. Her mind wouldn't shut up for long enough to fall into a thoughtless sleep.

 _"Yes,_ " she answered before she got up to change out of her pajama pants and into a pair of jeans. She slipped on a lacrosse hoody she'd stolen from Stiles freshman year and never returned and shoved on a pair of flip flops despite the chill in the spring air. As expected, she heard a car pull into the driveway and its bright headlights threw light up into her room for a moment before the they were shut off and the loud engine cut off.

" _Wanna go for a ride?"_

Lydia didn't bother answering the text because by the time it predictably appeared on her screen, she was already coming out of the front door and ambling towards the powder blue jeep.

Stiles sat in the drivers seat with his hair going in all directions and purple bags adorning his under eyes. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn to school that day instead of the sweat pants he liked to wear around the house. He smiled warmly at her when she opened the jeep's door and crawled into the cab. No words were exchanged as she buckled her seat belt. Stiles silently backed the jeep out of the driveway and continued down the road away from Lydia's house.

The bright red numbers on the dashboard read 1:30am and Lydia couldn't stifle a yawn at the thought that she had school in the morning. She had an exam in history at 8am. He had an exam in English third period. Lydia chose to ignore those facts in favor of waiting for him to speak.

It was best not to talk to Stiles on these late night drives until he decided to start the conversation. He didn't get out of bed just for fun. He needed to not be alone. He needed a distraction. He needed something that took brain power to do. He needed something to do to occupy his hands.

Driving did that for him. Lydia wouldn't tell anyone, least of all him, but she loved watching Stiles drive. It's was weird, she knew that, but she loved the way his hands expertly gripped the steering wheel. She loved how his feet and hands moved simultaneously at hitting the clutch and switching between gears. It was a kind of coordination that Stiles didn't possess in any other part of his life. He had control, and seemed much more like an adult doing this than he did any other time. It was borderline mesmerizing.

"Can we play the What-If game?" Stiles asked quietly. He switched gears and turned the jeep down the road along the woods. It was pitch black dark and the air felt sharper than it should have in April. Lydia buried her hands in the stretched out sleeves of the stolen hoodie and waited for him to start the game.

The What-If game was something that they'd made up when they were kids as a way of occupying time. The person asking had to start every sentence with "What if" and the other person couldn't lie. They'd ask each other stupid questions like "What if you have three legs?" or "What if the sky just turned lime green?" "What if you could never eat ice cream again?"

It became something different as the grew older. It became a way of telling each other big things. It was a way of extracting the truth, because neither Stiles nor Lydia would ever degrade the game. It was a sacred ritual in their lives. It was something to be protected.

"Yes," Lydia said. She held her breath for a moment while he figured out what he was going to say. Words were important to Stiles. The choice of vernacular, the order, the tone; they were all pieces to a puzzle he was constructing.

"What if I told you that I've been dreaming of my mom?" Stiles asked. He didn't look at her at all when he asked the question. His eyes were trained forward on the quickly passing trees and dark green reflective road signs.

"I'd tell you that I've known you since we were in the third grade. I know when you aren't sleeping." Lydia shrugged her shoulders and brought her legs up so that she was sitting on them for warmth. Her body was turned a little towards him so it wasn't hard to watch him drive his beloved jeep. The first question was always an easy one. It was a sort of warm up for whatever the actual question was.

"What if I told you that I've been dreaming of her killing me?" These words were new to Lydia. He'd told her about the dreams before. His mother screamed at him, and accused him of wanting to kill her; trying to kill her even. It took the energy out of him every time he had them, but with time it became natural to say that none of what happened with his mother was his fault. He'd never told her that Claudia had ever killed him, though. She wondered if this was a new development or something he'd always dealt with.

"I would ask you why you didn't tell me," she said was a false calm she'd perfected during years of the What-If game.

"What if I told you that it was because I'm scared?" He whispered this quietly.

Lydia breathed deeply. "I would tell you that your birthday is tomorrow and it's ok to be scared of finding out," she said this gently.

Stiles gripped the steering wheel tighter. "It's not that," he huffed. He pulled onto a side road and stopped the car. Once he had the practically ancient vehicle in park, he turned to face her. "I'm scared that we'll all separate after college. I'm afraid that I don't have a plan. I'm afraid of losing Scott, you, and, hell, even Isaac. I'm afraid of losing everything. I'm afraid of the future more than I am of not having one." He grabbed her hand.

"I don't know what to say," Lydia said slowly. She played with her fingers nervously. "I don't think I actually have to tell you that that is never going to happen." She searched his eyes for a moment but found nothing to suggest that he knew exactly what she meant. She placed a palm on his cheek. "You are never going to be able to get rid of us." She smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek. He patted the side of her face gently and hung his head for a moment like he was losing some internal battle with himself.

"What if I told you there are a thousand other What-If's I want to ask you but I have to wait until the day after my birthday to ask them?" He asked after almost a minute of fighting with himself.

"I would tell you that nothing that happens on your birthday is going to change my answers." She gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. She wanted to do something to ease whatever was going on it his head. He struggled with himself sometimes. He'd never tell her that outside of their What-If game that he felt guilty for his moms death and sometimes that guilt felt like it was overtaking him. He asked her once, "What if I told you that I think I killed my mom. What if I told you that I make my dad drink?" She'd never forget how broken he'd sounded then. Right now she would do anything to not hear that in his voice again.

Her words of encouragement ignited the fight with himself again. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply. "I'm trying here, Lyds," he said slowly. "You can't say stuff like that. Not right now. Please," he begged. "I want to see you after my birthday party. I want to talk to you then. Can we do that?" Like there was a chance she'd say no to him.

"Yeah," she said as she nodded her head furiously. "Of course we can, Stiles. Like I said, you can't get rid of me."

—

Stiles' birthday was a much less somber affair than Lydia's had been. There were no dramatic porch conversations or worried confessions of panic. Stiles didn't sneak away to be by himself or wring his hands in worry. It was simply music, a ton of food, and Stiles wearing a party hat even after the elastic around his chin started leaving a thin red mark. Stiles had designed the party to be that way on purpose. He wanted to have a good time. He wanted to forget that today was the day that he found out when he was going to die. Honestly, if there were any less distractions than there were now, he was sure to go into a full fledged panic attack. That was sure to seriously damage the whole "I'm-not-worried-about-it" image so he laughed and joked and worried quietly with a smile plastered on his face.

He hadn't mentioned to anyone about Lydia and their late night drive. He didn't have that broken twinge to his voice today either. He walked straighter and spoke louder. He laughed and smiled and put on the perfect facade that didn't fool Lydia for one minute. "We're still on for tonight, right?" he whispered to her when she'd arrived at his house to help set up for the party.

"Yeah," she'd said with a nod. "Happy birthday again." She squeezed his hand and walked towards the kitchen. She didn't say anything about how he didn't let go of her hand until they were in the kitchen and his dad turned around to face them.

As much as Stiles pretended that he wasn't terrified, his father more than made up for it. He was barely seen at the party at all under the guise that he needed to finish the cake, or grill the burgers, or get Stiles' gifts ready. Melissa and Natalie had been in the kitchen with him for a hour offering soft words of encouragement and understanding. Stiles was all he had left for the remainder of the 83 years he was going to live. Melissa and Natalie surely could understand that. They could sympathize with the fear that gripped the mans heart. "Claudia would know what to say to him," he said to the women quietly. "She always knew what to say to calm him down."

While the kitchen was quiet and stiff, the living room was warm and full of noise. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac played video games at a near deafening volume in the living room while Lydia sat on the couch shoved between Stiles' slight frame and Isaac's massive one. Crunched up chips were scattered on the floor and the coffee table looked like a shrine to the Mountain Dew god.

"Get out of the way, Scott," Isaac practically yelped when Stiles threw a hand grenade at Isaac's character causing him to die again. "Jesus, Scott. You can't just stand there! You have to move! I can't shoot him if my own team mate is camping right in front of me."

Scott threw his hands up in the air. "I wasn't just standing there, Isaac. I was trying to snipe him." He pointed to the screen just as Stiles came behind him and stabbed him.

"How the hell are you going to snipe him when he's close enough to throw a hand grenade at my face?" Isaac roared.

Stiles smiled happily and took a drink of his Mountain Dew. "You both are terrible," he laughed.

"And loud," Lydia complained. Isaac's voice was so loud it bounced around her head uncomfortably.

"Sorry," Isaac said to Lydia in a much softer tone. "But Scott is getting me owned out there and I have a reputation to uphold." His eyes brightened as if he'd just had the best idea in the world. "You wanna play? Scott, give Lydia your controller." Isaac pointed from Scott to Lydia. Scott only scoffed in response.

"Lydia doesn't know how to play," Scott said with a shake of his head.

"And she would still be a thousand times better than you!" Isaac thundered.

Stiles roared with laughter and set his controller down on the arm of the sofa. "I'm going to get another soda," he said through more laughter. "You want anything?" he asked Lydia.

"A muzzle?" she asked coyly. Stiles smiled. Isaac and Scott found it far less funny.

"I'll see what I can do." His eyes sparkled for a moment before he disappeared into the kitchen and was greeted with far too exuberant fake happiness from the adults.

A couple hours passed the same way. Stiles continued to annihilate Scott and Isaac, and Scott and Isaac continued to shout at each other too loudly. Lydia played a couple rounds with Isaac and it was decided that she was far better than Scott. Isaac happily called dibs on her for whenever they played. Anything to get out Scott's line of fire because being on his team was much more dangerous than being his enemy.

Three pizzas, a grill full of burgers and hot dogs, and two large bags of potato chips were destroyed as only three teenage boys could destroy a table full of food.

"Did you finish the English paper?" Stiles asked Lydia with a mouth full of left over pizza. Lydia looked at him incredulously. "Is that a real question?" she asked over the sound of Isaac and Scott discussing battle strategies to beat Stiles after they were done eating.

Stiles laughed and shrugged.

"You just don't look like you are having much fun. I thought you'd brighten up if I asked you about your one true love: academia." He said the words with so much flourish that Lydia couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I'm having fun," Lydia assured him. She patted his leg to emphasis her point.

"Now who is lying?" Stiles smirked, unconvinced. He waited for a moment before he shook his head and took another too big bite of pizza.

"What?" Lydia asked at the shrug he gave her. "I'm not lying. I'm having the time of my life." She was lying, and he was more than well aware.

How was she honestly supposed to have fun right now? She had not had fun in days, because with each passing minute she was closer to finding out when her best friend was going to die. He didn't want to talk about it, that was clear. Really, she didn't want to either, but there really wasn't anything else to do except to talk and worry. So if he didn't want to talk, then she would just worry.

"It's time."

The words silenced the four teenagers at once. Lydia looked up to see the Sheriff, Melissa, and Natalie standing in front of them uncomfortably.

"Honey," Natalie said to Lydia as she moved to the side of the living room. "Get up so Mr. Stilinski can sit next to his son." She gestured for her daughter to get up and come stand next to her.

Lydia nodded and wordlessly fought her way out of the old couch that had seemed to eat her after sitting in it for far too long. Stiles grabbed her hand quickly, squeezed it and shot her a warm smile before Mr. Stilinski sat in her place. The older man didn't look like he knew what to do so he put his hand on his son's shoulder and squeezed. Stiles patted his hand and shot him a smile. "It's ok, Dad."

"Thirty seconds," Melissa said with a tight smile. She was going to be happy when all four teens were finished with this. She was praying September came quickly so they could find out about Isaac and end this whole mess.

Stiles nodded and looked down at the flesh on his wrist. It would never look like this again: pale, unblemished, thin, perfect.

What felt like an absolute eternity later, he finally felt what he had witnessed Scott and Lydia feel on their birthdays.

Stiles was pretty sure he had a higher pain tolerance than most. Sure, he made a big deal about stubbing his toe, or getting hit too hard at lacrosse practice, but that was all for show. It was all part of his funny guy persona. But when things got real, and when pain was a necessary evil, he gritted his teeth and bore it.

That's exactly what he did when the white hot pain of razor blades sliced through his skin. He gritted his teeth and breathed through his nose. His flesh opened up and bled so he covered his wrist with his other hand so that no one else could see the gore.

"I don't see what all the fuss was about," he joked through clenched teeth. "It kinda tickles." No one laughed, and when Stiles looked around for a split second he saw that no one was even smiling. They all just wore worried, tight expressions. Scott had his arm around his mother, Isaac stared at Stiles' hand covering his wrist with all the fear that Stiles remembered he had felt watching this same thing happen to Scott and Lydia. Lydia barely registered that her mother's hand was on her back. She chose to just stare at Stiles and rub her own scared wrist. "Tough crowd," Stiles half laughed when he squeezed his eyes shut through another burst of pain.

It didn't take long for the scab to form and the pain to subside like it was never there. "Well that sucked," he said more to himself than anyone else.

He'd done quite a bit of research on this whole process. There were articles and self help books about it. He'd read parenting books written about getting your teenager through the death date process. He'd read up on the different methods of scab removal, and he decided to treat it like a band aid.

"Oh God," he winced when he pulled the whole thing off in one move. The pain lasted for only a few seconds while his eyes were locked on Lydia's like he was drawing her strength into himself. She was the only one in the room not wincing at the sight of the thick scab on a tissue on the table or the residual blood dripping from his wrist. He continued to stare at her for a second before he looked down at his wrist and felt his father tense up at the same time.

His stomach dropped, and suddenly all of that pizza he'd eaten earlier seemed like a really, really bad idea.

"Son," the Sheriff said with more than a hint of pain behind his voice. "Son, it's going to be okay." The Sheriff put his hand on Stiles back but Stiles was too enraptured with the math his brain was doing to properly feel the comfort his father was trying to give him. Stiles chest seized up, and his heart beat wildly.

"What does it say?" Scott asked quietly, unable to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mother had her hand over her mouth because she knew it wasn't good. She had known the Sheriff long enough to know that look. It was the same one he had worn when Claudia died. It was a look a quiet panic and more than mild regret.

"Well," Stiles said slowly and stopped when he heard that his own voice sounded far away. He took his party hat off, suddenly annoyed by it, cleared his throat and took a deep breath. "It says April 3rd 2021." He swallowed hard. "I have five years to live."

—


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia had gotten many things from her mother: her smile, her poise, her love for expensive clothing. Even more than those things, Lydia had gotten her ability to spring into action from her mother; a trait Natalie practiced frequently.

"Honey," Natalie said quickly. She started to pull Lydia towards the Stilinski's front door. "I think we should let the Sheriff have some time alone with his son." Natalie exchanged a quick look with Melissa who nodded in agreement and pushed Scott gently forward.

"Let's go, boys." She nodded towards the door when her son looked back at her horrified that she wanted them to leave. Scott didn't want to leave it like that. He didn't want to leave Stiles like that. He knew his best friend, and right now, his best friend was losing his mind quietly on the couch next to his equally terrified father.

Both Scott and Isaac stood solidly in place and peered at Stiles like they wanted to say something but couldn't quite find the words. Scott had a hard time putting what he wanted to say into actual sentences most of the time. He was much more a man of action than conversation. He showed his care through hugs and warm smiles not poetic speeches or comments that stood out as particularly insightful.

Isaac loved words, but his often burned and stung without really meaning to. He couldn't remember when he started using them as weapons instead of sheer communication. It might have started when kids at school would comment on the black eyes and dark bruises on his arms. Sometimes they'd call him bull frog because he'd lost his voice from screaming to be let out of the freezer his father used as "disciplinary measures".

Eventually he started lashing back at the kids who called him names, or even showed concern for him. It was simply none of their business, he thought. They were being nosey. They were being cruel. They were going to get him into more trouble. Maybe one day they'd tell the teacher, and she'd call the cops. Maybe if that happened, his father wouldn't free him in the morning. Maybe his father would keep him in his small, dark, cold prison forever. Maybe he'd die alone and terrified. So he concocted hateful words to make the kids leave him alone. He used words that bit hard at whatever anyone came at him with.

When his dad died in the car accident, and the whole terrible truth came out of his sad and lonely existence, Stiles and Scott had been there for him. He stayed at Stiles' house for awhile, but it was decided Isaac needed a little more attention than the Sheriff was able to give a boy who so desperately needed an adult to show him love. So Melissa, an adult who had endless love and care to give, took him in and that's were he'd been for a few years now. Now, he often opted to remain quiet in an attempt to avoid hurting anyone with the words he was so in a habit of wielding like daggers.

Neither boy could come up with anything to say to Stiles now.

Lydia heard her mother and Melissa's words but was having a hard time caring. All she could clearly hear and understand was the number five being said over and over in her head like a funeral dirge. _Five, Five, Five, Five._

"Five," she breathed, barely audible even in the silent room. Scott heard it, though, and whipped his head around to look at her like he'd forgotten she was there. She didn't return his look. She, instead, was unabashedly staring at Stiles who was looking down at his wrist like he was contemplating cutting it off to escape his fate. His father's eyes were brimming with tears and his hand rubbed his son's back in a very vain attempt to comfort him. His other hand was in a dangerous fist.

"Honey, now," Natalie instructed quietly as she poked her daughter hard in the back. The pain brought Lydia back to the present like a shock. She lurched forwards and went through the door that Scott held open for the group.

"Lydia," Isaac called after her, but she ignored him. She walked towards her mother's car quickly. "Lydia!" Isaac called again.

Natalie unlocked the car with her key fob so that as soon as Lydia got to the SUV's door, she could climb inside and ignore whatever Isaac had to say. She just couldn't listen to him now. She couldn't listen to anyone.

"Isaac," Natalie said sharply. She regretted her tone to the boy who had received enough sharpness in life immediately. "Isaac," she said softer. "Give her some time."

Lydia starred straight ahead until her mother pulled out of the driveway. Then her face turned towards the passenger seat window where she could hide the tears she was exerting a terrible amount of energy into hiding from her mother.

"Honey, it's-"

"Don't," Lydia said too harshly. Her mother got the picture and didn't say a word the short drive home. They passed the school, and the lacrosse field where she'd spent far too much time on for someone who didn't play the sport. They drove past the library, and ice skating rink where she'd learned about the colors of the Mets and that sometimes a good combination was something you'd never expect. They drove past the woods Stiles and Lydia had escaped to last night. How many more late night drives could they have? How many years would she have to go without them? How many years would she have to go without him?

When Natalie parked her car in front of their house, Lydia was out of the car in a flash, and in her own even faster. Not fast enough for Natalie not to catch up with her.

"Where are you going?" Natalie asked quickly. She caught the drivers side door from closing with her left hand and used her body to keep it open.

"I just need to take a drive," Lydia explained. She didn't try to shut the door. This wasn't a tantrum. She wasn't storming off. She needed to escape, if only for just half an hour. She needed silence and solitude. She needed to feel what she needed to feel without her mother standing over her like she was standing too close to a glass figurine on her grandmothers mantle. On the flip side, she couldn't go to Scotts. She couldn't bare the sympathetic looks or the attempts of comfort. She needed the dark, and the cold, and the quiet.

"Then I'll drive. Where do you want to go?" It was practically a plea from the older woman. "Anywhere you want," Natalie confirmed. "We can go get ice cream, or go to a movie."

Lydia shook her head and put on her seat belt. "I need to be alone," she insisted. "Mom." She reached over and grabbed the handle to the car but didn't pull. She needed her mother to understand. She needed her to decide to let her go. "Please," she begged.

Natalie fancied herself an excellent parent. Sure, at one point she worked too much to really be there for Lydia's childhood. Also, during a large portion of Lydia's childhood, Natalie and her ex-husband spent far more time arguing than caring for their daughter. But, Natalie was trying now. Natalie was at this moment, second guessing her attempts to be a good parent, because a good parent would have never stepped away from the door and let her daughter drive off in the state Lydia was in. A good parent would have made her go inside and let her cry on the couch wrapped up in a blanket. A good parent would make her tea and tell her everything would be ok. But Natalie stood in the driveway and watched her daughters taillights get further and further away until they disappeared.

Lydia didn't know where she was driving. It was dangerous, she knew, but she barely registered the stop signs and pedestrian crossing paint on the black road. She just drove and drove until she was stopped in the parking lot of a hiking trail miles away from her house. She turned her car off and watched the darkness overtake her environment as the headlights on her car turned off. One single light attached to a bathroom building was the only light besides the full moon.

She took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car without the fear she knew she should feel.

Lydia enjoyed yelling at stupid people in horror movies. In fact, that was the only reason she ever watched them. But here she was, in the real world, pulling her phone out and turning on the flashlight so that she could walk towards the trail. She was just like every idiot in every horror movie ever made.

She stuck her keys in her pocket and walked faster; like she was running from something. The trail was smooth, and the sign at the beginning said it wasn't too difficult. Thankfully she'd opted to wear flats instead of the heels she usually donned.

She walked along the trail for about a half an hour when she realized how alone she really was. There was no one around for miles probably. She looked around and saw nothing but trees and shadows.

This was how she was going to feel for the rest of her life. Everyone was going to leave her: her mom, her dad, Scott, Stiles. "Oh my God," she said when she thought Stiles name. His face flashed in her memory. The reality of what had happened a little over an hour before came crashing down around her.

Stiles only had five more years to live. Five more years.

It had to be a mistake. There was no way that that boy would have to endure this on top of everything else. Nothing and no one could be that cruel. But, she'd never heard of a death date being wrong. As far as she knew, no one escaped their fate. Not even pretty dark hair boys with honey colored eyes who were a little too sad than they deserved to be. A sob wrenched out of her throat almost violently.

"Stiles," she whimpered through the tears. She felt like she was holding something back. The tears and sobs felt hollow somehow. So she screamed.

It came out of nowhere. Her mouth just opened and she screamed so loud she was surprised the town couldn't hear it. It felt like along with the steam her breath created, she was also letting go of anger, and sadness and guilt. It was liberating and terrifying in equal measure. But it felt right to scream and cry. Stiles deserved for someone to be crushed about his death. He deserved for someone to be devastated. He would hate it, but he deserved every once of pain she was feeling for him.

When she was finished screaming, she walked a little further down the trail until she found a bench on the side of the trail. It was hard, and during the day, when the grim reality of what was probably on that bench was shown apparent in the daylight, she would have never laid down on it and curled up to keep warm. But she did tonight because she was exhausted and her best friend was going to die. Who cared about what the bench had seen? Who cared about how cold it was? Who cared how dark it was? Who cared about anything at this point?

—

"Lydia!" A voice woke Lydia up with a start.

"Jesus, you're freezing," the tall dark figure said as he put a palm to her cheek. Lydia sat up and tried to scurry away from the figure. "No, hey, hey, hey," the figure said soothingly. "It's me. It's Isaac." All of a sudden his phone light shown on his face to reveal his delicate features.

"Isaac?" Lydia asked groggily. Her voice was almost completely gone from the screaming of earlier. It was lower and scratchy and her throat burned with the energy necessary to make the words audible. Isaac looked at her with concern. "What are you doing here?" She pulled out her phone from her pocket and saw 24 missed called from her mother, and 43 from Stiles.

Stiles: _Where are you?_

Stiles: _Lydia, your mom called wanting to know where you are._

Stiles: _Seriously, Lyds. Answer your phone._

Stiles: _Fine, we're coming to find you._

The text messages went on from there each one more panicked than the last.

The time on her phone read 4:34am. "Why aren't you wearing a jacket?" he asked incredulously. "It's freezing out here." He pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before hitting a number on his phone and putting it up to his ear.

"Hey, Stiles. I found her." He paused for a moment after Stiles apparently answered his phone after one ring. "No, yeah dude. She's freezing but she's fine. Listen, we're about a mile south of where I found her car. I'm going to take her back there and drive her home." He paused again before nodding like Stiles could see him and held the phone out for her to take.

"He'd like to talk to you," Isaac said. She eyed his phone like it was a snake. How was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to talk to him. "Come on," Isaac prodded gently. He closed the gap between them and put the phone in her hands. She could hear Stiles calling her name through the phone even though it was nowhere close to her ear. "Go on then," Isaac prodded again.

She gingerly put the phone up to her ear and spoke softly. "Hello?"

Lydia rarely saw Stiles angry. He usually didn't let that side show too often, least of all to her. The angriest she'd ever seen him was once when her ex boyfriend Jackson threw her against a locker bay. She wasn't the one who told Stiles, but she knew someone had when he stormed up to her two classes later and demanded to know what happened. By the end of the day he'd gotten a black eye and one day of suspension, but he claimed it was worth it. His voice on the other end of the phone sounded exactly like it had that day.

"Are you ok?" Stiles demanded quickly.

"Yes," she answered. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her hoodie.

"You don't sound ok," he said tightly.

"I'm fine, Stiles," she reiterated. He was silent on the phone and Lydia could almost see his face. He was surely holding his face with his hand or furiously running his hand through his hair. He'd have his eyes squeezed shut and lips pressed together to keep himself from saying something he'd regret later.

"You are going to let Isaac take you home," he said with a forced calm a few moments later.

"Ok," Lydia answered him.

On any other day, Lydia would have told him she didn't need someone to drive _her_ home in _her_ car, but this wasn't a normal day. This was far from being normal.

The phone beeped, signaling that Stiles had hung up without saying goodbye. It hurt her more than in probably should have. Isaac noticed the fresh tears well in her eyes, sighed, and took the phone gently from her.

"He's not angry," Isaac said smoothly. He took her hand and helped her stand up on two shaking legs, a product of being scrunched up and cold all night. "You're mom called him at one AM wanting to know when you were coming home. We were all under the impression that you were with her, being that she made you leave so quickly." He led her down trail with a hand on her back.

"I didn't go back to Stiles'," Lydia said. "Why would I have driven all of the way back there when we'd just left?" She rolled her eyes, sniffled, and continued walking. She picked up the pace a little because she was realizing just how cold she actually was.

"Well, Stiles called Scott who woke me and we went out searching for you. Your mom got your GPS location from your phone but it wasn't very specific. So we spilt up. I found your car and figured you came this way."

Lydia walked without answering him for awhile. "I didn't want to be found," she said quietly.

Isaac looked over at her and squinted to see her face with the light of the phone flashlight. "And why is that?" he asked.

Lydia shrugged. "Because I needed to let some stuff out." Her voice was evidence of just what she had to let out: all of that anger and hate towards a fate that shouldn't have been set into stone, or flesh rather, at all. "Everyone knew I wasn't going to die out here," she said remembering the date on her wrist. "You shouldn't have gone through all the trouble of finding me."

Isaac stopped in his tracks and halted her with a hand to her arm. "Your death date doesn't make you invincible, Lydia. Something bad could happen to you just the same. You could have gotten hurt. You could have gotten sick. There are a million things that aren't death, Lydia. Some of them are far worse."

"Like outliving someone you can't live without?" Her words froze him in place because there were no words to make that better. He couldn't give her much advice on the matter because in her position he didn't know what he would do.

"He doesn't want this." Isaac shook his head. "He doesn't want you doing stupid stuff like hiking in the woods in the dark. He still has five years. He can do a lot in five years."

Lydia laughed sarcastically. "You know that's exactly what he said about Erica. He said that twenty years was plenty enough time to have a life. Now he's only got five to do all of the stuff he wanted to do and that's just not fair at all." She was crying again by now. God, she was tired of crying. She wanted desperately to be strong for Stiles. That's what he would need. He could cry and scream and run to the woods all he wanted because it was his life that was being cut tragically short.

But she was selfish at her core. All she could think about was standing at his funeral, and living her life being surrounded by things he would love. She thought about how many times she'd want to call him and tell him about her day. She thought about how many people would remind her of him. She thought about how much life he would miss.

"You know, death doesn't happen to you, Isaac," she said gravely. "It happens to everyone around you. To all the people left standing at your funeral, trying to figure out how they're gonna live the rest of their lives without you in it."

—

The next day Lydia's mother didn't make her go to school. She'd been out of her mind worried about Lydia from the minute Stiles said she wasn't at his house until the minute Isaac practically carried her into the house and up to her bedroom. She was relieved when she tucked Lydia into bed and put an extra blanket on her. Melissa said it wasn't cold enough for her to get hypothermia, but she should probably stay home and rest.

So, Natalie stayed home and made soup and tea and dodged her daughter's dangerous looks all day.

Lydia chose to stay in bed all day. She slept for hours, woke up to check her phone that didn't have any messages from Stiles, and then went back to sleep. Wash, rinse, and repeat for the rest of the day until 10 PM when she just couldn't force herself into oblivion anymore.

Isaac texted awhile after to check on her. _I'm fine, Isaac. Thank you for finding me._ She typed the words out fast and sent them before she had the chance to ask him if he'd talked to Stiles that day.

Lydia watched the numbers on her alarm clock change in between the very interesting view she had of her plain ceiling. She tried not to think about it. She tried not to think about him. He hadn't so much as Tweeted all day. No texts, no calls, no stupid memes: nothing.

 _You awake?_ The buzzing of her phone practically scared her out of bed.

 _Yes._ She scrambled up and threw jeans on like she had the two nights before. Her heart was beating too hard in her chest. Headlights splashed light into her room and she heard his rickety engine shut off.

 _I'm coming up._

Lydia stopped her hurried movements of changing into her jeans and put her sweatpants back on. He was coming up. He rarely came up late at night. That was reserved for times that he really needed someone to listen to him. That was for when he was really messed up.

She cracked her window and sat on the edge of her bed to wait impatiently for him to appear at her window. It took him less time than she expected.

Neither said anything as he crawled into her room and shut the window to keep the cold outside. He adjusted his flannel and ran a hand through his ever messy hair. He looked exhausted, more exhausted perhaps than Lydia had ever seen him.

The two best friends found no words at first. Stiles stood across from Lydia and stared at her. She had rarely seen him speechless. He was the kid no one could get to shut up. He always had a story, a weird fact, a witty comeback to spout. He had nothing right now but the overwhelming need to breathe the same air as her.

After a few minutes Lydia gathered up the courage to speak first. "Do you wanna, um, sit down or something?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, I need to stand," he said without further explanation.

"Ok," Lydia said quietly. She clutched her hands together and watched him start to silently pace her room nervously.

Suddenly he stopped. "I've been with Scott all day." He said simply. He rubbed his face and decided to sit on her desk chair.

"Ok," Lydia said. She tried to keep her voice from sounding too wounded that he'd spent the whole day with Scott and hadn't even texted her that he was ok.

"He's been helping me, um, come to terms with a few things. He's been helping me figure some stuff out. I needed to make a couple decisions." He stood up again and resumed pacing the room again. "Isaac was there too, but he wasn't very helpful. He was just frustrating." He continued pacing.

"Ok," Lydia said for the third time. She was started to feel like a parrot.

Stiles stopped again and faced her. "I need us to play the What-If game," he said like it wasn't really a question.

"Ok." Lydia cringed at the only word her brain was apparently capable of responding with.

Stiles took a moment to form the words. "Do you remember two nights ago when I told you that I wanted to see you after my birthday party?" His eyes were soft, but also red and puffy. So many emotions churned in them like a witches caldron.

"Yes, I do," Lydia answered with a nod. It was practically all she could think about since her mother swept her away from the party after he was scarred.

"You told me that your answers wouldn't change no matter what my death date was. Do you remember that?" He looked strangely at her, and said the words like he wanted her to say no. He was trying to give her an out.

"Yes, I remember," she said strongly. He wilted a little and her choice to not sway.

"Ok," he said quietly. "What if I told you that I can't ask them anymore?" He looked like he was in turmoil.

"I don't know," Lydia said as she shook her head.

"It's not that I don't want to, because I do," Stiles added quickly. "It would just make me the worst, most selfish person in the world." He started pacing again, quicker this time.

Lydia pursed her lips and watched him pace. This was bad. She'd never seen him like this. He didn't seem mad, or sad, or anything like that. He seemed panicked, and at war with a part of himself that was clearly fighting him just as hard as he was fighting it.

"What if," Stiles stopped, approached her and knelt down in front of her so that they were facing each other on the same level. "What if I told you that I _am_ the most selfish person in the world?"

"Then I would tell you to ask it," she said quietly. She reached out a palmed his face. He closed his eyes for a moment and his lower lip quivered like he was about to cry.

"I argued with Scott. I told him that I couldn't- I can't ruin this. I can't doom you. I can't put you through what I want to put you through because I am a terrible person." He grabbed both sides of her face gently and took a deep breath. "I was going out of my mind last night after you left," he explained. "I wanted to talk to you. I needed to tell you so many things because the timer on my life has started and its going to fast." He swallowed hard. "You left, and I was left alone with my dad. He's devastated, Lyds. More than he was when Mom died."

"I'm sorry," Lydia whispered.

"It's all I could think about. Dying and not being around to talk to Scott, or see you, or call Isaac and idiot. I was going to miss all thought. I was having a proper pity party. Then your mom called, and I realized that there are much worse things that could happen than dying. I could lose you, and that would be worse than anything I could think of." His eyes darted around her face frantically like was reliving the search party last night. "But, is that how you were feeling when I read out my death date? Did you feel the same way I was feeling while I was out in the cold woods looking for you?"

"Yes," she said certainly. Stiles obviously didn't want to hear that because he sighed and lowered his head. "I was out in the woods screaming, Stiles." She said forcefully. "I was screaming because I am going to lose you. I'm going to lose everyone."

Stiles stared at her in wonder.

"I can make it so much worse," he said softly. "I can't do that to you." He rested his fore head on her's. "I don't want to do that to you."

"What-if I told you that I wanted you to?" Lydia asked him. He straightened himself and looked her straight in the eyes. "What-if I told you that nothing can make it worse because I'm already committed. I'm already as scared as I can be. I'm already as sad and mad, and pissed off as I can be. What-if I told you that I already know what you are going to ask me." She said with a little smile.

"Lydia, I'm trying to-" Stiles started before Lydia cut him off.

"What if I told you I love you," she said simply. Stiles stopped talking and starred at her in disbelief. "What if I told you that I've loved you for a very long time and I didn't know if you still felt the same way. What if I told you that I don't care that I'm only going to have five years with you because if that's all we have, we better make them the best five years anyone has every have?"

Tears welled in Stiles and Lydia's eyes before they almost simultaneously fell.

"How could you ever think that I didn't love you?" he asked.

Lydia shrugged. "Malia." Stiles shook his head.

"What if I told you that there has never been a minute since the day I asked you to marry me in the third grade that I haven't been irrevocably in love with you?" he asked.

"Then I would tell you that you better kiss me, Stiles Stilinski, and prove it." Lydia breathed.

He wasted no time at all in crashing his lips with hers. Five years be damned.


End file.
